


the dreams that are and aren’t of you

by taxicab12



Series: more to me than you can dream [1]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: First Meetings, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:14:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25869490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taxicab12/pseuds/taxicab12
Summary: Nicolò had never dreamed of Yusuf, at least, not in the way they both dreamed of the others.There had been no chance to. His first death was at Yusuf’s hand, feeling the sword in his chest before he even saw the man’s face, his eyes dark with hatred.Nicolò took what he was sure was his last breath and raised his own sword, plunging it into his attacker’s chest. They fell to the ground, a sword in each their chests, dying side by side.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: more to me than you can dream [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1878034
Comments: 26
Kudos: 337





	the dreams that are and aren’t of you

Nicolò had never dreamed of Yusuf, at least, not in the way they both dreamed of the others.

There had been no chance to. His first death was at Yusuf’s hand, feeling the sword in his chest before he even saw the man’s face, his eyes dark with hatred.

Nicolò took what he was sure was his last breath and raised his own sword, plunging it into his attacker’s chest. They fell to the ground, a sword in each their chests, dying side by side.

Then, they woke, their wounds closing and forcing the blades from their bodies. Simultaneously, they rose, grabbing the nearest weapon, neither man caring that he wielded a foreign blade. Nicolò was faster, slitting the man’s throat and watching him choke on the blood. Part of him took pleasure in this, even as part of him wondered how he lived, and a third part felt pity for this foreigner before him. He turned away after the gurgling and choking gave way to silence, then traded the weapon he held for his own, not looking at the body behind him.

He’d killed before, and likely would again, but this death felt different.

Then he heard something before him, a word he did not recognize in a language he did not know, turning around only to be stabbed once more in the chest.

The twice-dead stranger did not speak Nicolò’s language well, but he managed to say “I do not stab in the back.” Then he muttered something in his own language, possibly an insult.

When Nicolò rose once more, they fought again, then again, killing each other a few dozen times that night, fighting into the late hours of the following morning.

When Nicolò stood after his thirty-first— thirty second?— death, the man was no longer carrying his weapon. Instead, he sat on a rock, exhaustion clear on his foreign face. 

He raised both hands. “Peace for now?”

Nicolò hesitated, but his exhaustion beat his good sense, and he laid back on the hard ground, dropping his sword.

They stayed like that for hours, neither speaking, until Nicolò sat up and finally asked “what are you?”

He shrugged, though Nicolò wasn’t sure if that meant he understood the question.

He put a hand to his own chest. “Nicolò.”

The man studied him for a long moment, as if amused by this. “Yusuf.”

“Should we start killing each other again?” He asked.

Yusuf tilted his head, clearly not understanding. 

Nicolò picked up his sword and tilted his head, a silent question that Yusuf merely waved away.

“Why?” Yusuf asked.

“Because we are enemies,” he said.

“We do not die,” he said. “Why...?” He gestured at his own sword.

“Why fight,” Nicolò finished for him.

He nodded.

They killed each other a dozen more times over the next week anyway, but with far less anger and passion than before. At first, they stayed together only because they were both alone and hungry, then because Yusuf mentioned his dreams, the two warrior women he saw. They agreed fate had bound them, though they killed each other once more than night, after Nicolò took offense to something Yusuf said.

“You were right,” Nicolò said when he woke. “We should stop.”

Yusuf was already up, cooking their dinner over a small fire. “Oh?”

“God has made our lives intertwined. These killings do nothing.”

“I don’t know what you’re saying.” Yusuf spoke Nicolò’s mothertongue a little better every day, but it was very far from perfect.

“We should find those women,” he said. “Maybe they know what we are.”

Yusuf tilted his head. “You want to go together?”

The way the fire glinted off his former enemy’s eyes made Nicolò forget every basic function. For a moment, he didn’t even breathe.

“Yes,” he said finally, averting his eyes so as to avoid the obvious beauty of the man. The man who had been beautiful even when he killed Nicolò again and again.

“Eat,” Yusuf said. “Morning, we will go.”

That night, as they lay on opposite sides of the dying fire, Nicolò had trouble sleeping.

When he finally fell asleep, he dreamed of Yusuf.

...

Nearly a thousand years later, Nicky woke in Joe’s embrace, in a hotel bed somewhere in southern Poland.

“Go back to sleep,” Nicky said in Arabic, feeling Joe stir. “It’s early, my love.”

Joe moved to press a kiss to his cheek. “Why would I sleep when I could behold you?”

“I dreamed of you,” Nicky said. “The day we met.”

“It was not a good day,” Joe said, but he smiled.

“It was the best day of my life,” he said. “I met you.”

“The best?” He teased.

“Up until then, at least.” He smiled. 

“Go back to sleep, love,” he said. “Dream of me again.”

His smile only grew as he rolled over. “Why would I want to sleep?”

**Author's Note:**

> This movie was amazing and I love these two and wow


End file.
